


Poor Baby

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [14]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Abuse, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Parallels, Preklok, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 01:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10478688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: He hated hearing that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> preklok quickie

"Poor baby."

A calloused hand ran down his cheek. "So ugly. So unloved." He felt small, enveloped in a corner by another body. The same hand grabbed his chin, pinching his cheeks together. He whimpered, he felt trapped and afraid. "I wish you wouldn't try to get close with other people when you know you can't. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Mmhm."

Tears dotted his face, lips curling as he tried to swallow back tears. Magnus looked sympathetic. "I'm schorry."

"Oh, my poor boy. So naive." His head met Magnus' chest and he whined. "So innocent to the horrors of the world. The kinds of people you'll meet. Even if you've spent your whole life being bullied, treated like a shitstain, you'll still trust anyone. But they have it out for you."

They always had. Because he was gross.

"You're shit and you're dirt, but I promise to stay with you."

He hacked and he coughed and he sobbed, he was so sad it made him nauseous. "My poor, poor baby."

-

"Oh no." He breathed. "Oh gahd, you poor kid."

His palms were overturned, revealing bloody marks. Pickles had a hand pressed to his mouth. "C'mere. Oh gahd." He stepped forward. Self-inflicted lacerations, dripping across his arms. He refused to look up. Pickles drew him in, and patted his head. "I'm so sahrry... Fuck..."

He whimpered. Hands coiled in his thick, tangled hair.

"I wish you'd tell me."

"I don't wanna." He mumbled, shaking, trembling, feeling chills in his bones.

"I don't want ya to hurt."

"It doeschn't matter."

"I don't know who told you that, but..." Pickles took a deep breath. "...das- das' just... wrong."

"Whatever."

Pickles was as fatherly as he could be, gently patting his head, trying to hide away from the tears that threatened him. "It doeschn't matter, nobody likesch me anyway." Each word looked like a shard of glass in the drummer's heart. "I'm ugly and I schtill pissch my pantsch."

"I'm sahrry." Pickles lowered his head. "Poor baby, I'm so sahrry."

-

"Hacking up your dinner again?"

They locked eyes in the bathroom, Magnus grinning down at him, with his cheek pressed on the toilet seat. "God, you're so predictable. You're never gonna stop being fat, so why even bother? Does it just make you feel better about yourself?"

He whimpered, fingers sticky with bile. "Don't wipe them on my good towels."

"Schorry."

"It's alright. I don't expect any better of you."

"Yeah."

"If you did wipe puke on my towels, though, I'm not gonna be happy."

"I didn't, I promische."

"Aw, you look scared." Magnus rolled his eyes. "Was that the face you made when grandma pulled out the rolling pin?"

"Maybe." The mere mention of Stella made his blood run cold.

"Awwww." He fake-pouted. "You poor baby. Get over it."

-

"Oh my gahd, are- are you okay?"

He fell down the stairs and landed on his head. The world was spinning and everything hurt. "How many fingers am I holdin' up."

"F'three?"

"Good, good... okay..." He was propped against the wall, feeling kind of like a heavy sack of potatoes. Pickles rubbed his head. "Oof, that's a nasty bruise right dere. Can you walk, or are you too dizzy?"

"World'sch schpinnin'..."

"Alright, just keep calm. Uhh..." Pickles pressed a cold beer against his forehead. "I ain't got an icepack so this'll haf'ta do, okay? Oh my gahd, kid, I'm sahrry. I shouldn't have let ya go down stairs after drinkin' dat much." His body hurt and he felt sick and gross.

"...I'm schorry..."

"Nonono, it ain't yer fault... Fuck, we go to Nate'ns old house for a weekend and on th' first day ya fall down th' stairs."

"...Did I break anythin'?"

"Just a vase, but--"

"I'm schorry."

"No, it's fine, 's just a vase. You feelin' okay?"

"...Kinda nauseousch..."

"Oh, fuck, I feel so bad. Oh, poor baby. Don't go anywhere, please."

-

"You can't do this to Willy."

"Why can't I?"

"He's just a kid."

"He's turned eighteen, now, hasn't he?"

"But he wasn't--"

"Enough of this shit." Magnus turned towards him, eye still swollen and throbbing. "William. Are you going to stay with these second-rate brats, or come with me?" His chest tightened and he clutched his leather jacket. "Do you really need to think about it?"

"Uh..." His eyes were wide. If he didn't go with Magnus, he'd hate him, and then he'd be alone forever. But this was the chance of a lifetime, and he wanted to be a part of this band. "I think... I-I think I gotta schtay."

"...So they can use you?"

"Don't listen to 'im." Pickles tapped his shoulder. "Magnus, fuck ahff."

"It's a fair question."

"I juscht- I can't go anywhere."

"Oh." Magnus' expression was blank. His cigarette popped into his fingers, the burning end pressing on little William's forehead, and for some reason he didn't move. "Poor baby. So stupid. I'm sure you'll change your mind. And I always know where you are."

He didn't want to be a victim.

But he always, always was.


End file.
